


sakuras on your skin

by emptypens



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, One Shot, sicheng as a tattoo artist, yuta as a florist, yuwin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-20 15:59:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14264565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptypens/pseuds/emptypens
Summary: Sicheng was starting to have a situation involving his worst enemy as a tattoo artist: art block.





	sakuras on your skin

Sicheng’s business was running low on customers, and from the hours of staring at the front door of the store, he was aware of this way too perfectly.

It has been nearly a week since someone called him to get their skin marked, probably longer. He was far from sure. He figured that it was because it was already spring, and everyone had come back to their businesses from their breaks.

It did not matter that much, anyway, because Sicheng was starting to have a situation involving his worst enemy as a tattoo artist: art block.

No matter how often he flips through his collection of previous styles, nothing was coming to him, and it was starting to frustrate him more than anything.

Before he could implode into a fit of anger, Sicheng heaved a heavy sigh and stood up from the stool that he had been sitting on for hours, leaving his gloves on the counter and hanging up his _on break_ sign on the front door, then proceeded to cross the street and head to the store standing on the exact opposite of his store; the store with a signage that read _Haru Haru._

(He always finds himself highly amused upon reading that sign. The word play was awfully genius.)

Sicheng stood in front of the store, eyes on the newly arranged bouquets of roses, gerberas, sunflowers, and other flowers displayed there, tickling any passerby’s nostrils with its natural perfume.

He smiled to himself. _He must have been feeling productive today._

Without thinking twice, Sicheng pushed the door open, causing the door chimes to sing a set of calming notes that echoed across the area.

Upon stepping in the store, he immediately spotted him, the flower of all flowers, standing in the very corner of the store with his head held slightly low.

A moment passed. Still no response from him.

A strange occurrence, Sicheng noticed. He always responds as soon as his door chimes start to sing.

Silently, he approached the storekeeper, discovering that he had his undivided attention to a specific set of flowers stored in the shelves, muttering in what seemed like Japanese, most likely taking mental notes to himself for an arrangement or some flower-related business of his.

Sicheng chortled at the sight. Yuta did not do this very often—or, at least, when Sicheng was around, so he could not help but watch it intently while he still could.

Eventually, Yuta turned to his left, finally noticing Sicheng’s presence next to him. He yelped and jumped in place out of shock.

“Oh, Winko,” Yuta said, smiling sheepishly. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I noticed,” Sicheng replied with a smile, resulting to Yuta’s cheeks to color in a shade nearly similar to that of the peonies he was standing near to. “Busy day?”

“ _Week_ ,” Yuta corrected him as he turned back to the shelves, exasperation evident in his voice. “The orders just keep coming. It’s starting to get harder and harder to keep up each day.”

“Where’s Taeyong hyung?”

“He took a sick leave.”

Sicheng frowned. Spring season was always the busiest for florists like his boyfriend, and judging by how dull his once sparkling doe eyes had become, it was starting to weigh on him more and more.

With that, he reached out and tugged on the strings of Yuta’s apron; a gesture Yuta was familiar with, despite how seldom Sicheng does it; a gesture that meant asking for attention.

“I can’t, Winko.”

Sicheng—a skilled tattoo artist who always wears black, uses black, basically breathes in black, who dislikes skinship, who rarely talks nor smiles to anyone else—pouted, jutting his lower lip out to amp up his expression.

Yuta’s expression faltered. A second later, he slouched, heaving a sigh of defeat. A definite win for the tattoo artist.

“Alright.” Yuta untied his apron and discarded it on the counter. “I guess a short break wouldn’t be too bad.”

Taking his hand, Sicheng pulled Yuta along with him as he made his way to the back room of the store.

As soon as the door closed and locked with a click, Sicheng didn’t think twice about bringing Yuta closer and lower to him so he could reach his lips and seal it with his own. 

Yuta, meanwhile, didn’t think twice about returning the gesture with just as much as passion as he had for his boyfriend.

A moment later, the florist laid his hands on the waist of the tattoo artist, leading him to his table and pushing him up to sit on it, without breaking away from his all-time favorite pair of lips. 

(Strangely, they tasted like the crappy instant coffees from the nearby convenience store. It was funny; Sicheng did not like coffee, much less that blend. He must have been that desperate to get rid of his relentless art block.)

After around fifteen minutes, they finally parted from each other, one’s eyes staring into the other’s while their slightly swollen lips released pants every other second.

Suddenly, Yuta’s tired eyes lit up like a light bulb.

“Oh, right,” he breathed out, grinning. “Stay here. I want to show you something.”

Sicheng watched Yuta in silence as he dashed off to a deeper part of the back room, then came back in a much slower pace with a pot in his hands. He scooched aside as the said pot was placed beside him on the table.

He gawked at the small tree on the pot, staring at every flower and leaf that hung on its tiny and fragile-like branches. The pictures in the Internet gave little to no justice to the true ethereality of it.

“Cherry blossoms,” he blurted out, looking back at Yuta’s bright face with his unchanged shocked expression.

“Correct. Directly from Japan,” Yuta pointed out as he stared at the tree fondly. “It was an unexpected delivery. Someone was kind enough to ship some to me.”

Sicheng was no mind reader, but the way Yuta looked at the flowers with a twinkle of sadness in his eyes gave him an idea that seeing a piece of his home was making him more lovesick than ever. What made him feel worse was that, as far as he remembered from his research on Japanese culture (don’t ask Sicheng about it at all costs), such flowers only survive in a very specific climate, and their blooming period only lasted for a week at most, which happens nearly once a year.

Meaning, it only takes a matter of time until the only piece of home Yuta has will go away, without knowing whether it will come back next year or not at all.

A tear rolled down Yuta’s cheek, but Sicheng was not sure whether this was because he was yawning or crying. 

Yuta made his way to the chair placed behind his table. 

“Wake me up in an hour,” Yuta whispered to Sicheng before laying a quick peck on his lips, flopping down on his chair, and laying his head down on the table, face resting on one arm while his other arm was out, hand recoling around the pot of the tree.

Sicheng hopped off the table and sat down on the other chair in front of it, then proceeded to observe every feature on Yuta’s face, as if he hadn’t been seeing them nearly every hour every day for two or three years of working.

Sooner or later, Yuta’s breathing deepens, and his worn out face relaxes, which was a huge relief to Sicheng. 

While listening to th calming melody of Yuta’s soft snoring, Sicheng turned his eyes to the pretty tree, examining it once again.

In his mind came in multiple information regarding it, specifically its symbolism in Japan. Because of the combination of its incredible beauty and its short period of blooming, cherry blossoms were often associated with mortality and acceptance of destiny. It fit the flower perfectly, he had to admit.

With that thought, Sicheng looked back at the dozing florist with the word _destiny_ pinned on the back of his mind.

He started to wonder about their current positions in thir lives. 

Sicheng admired any type of art, but between visual arts and performing arts, the Chinese tattoo artist was more drawn to the latter, specifically dancing.

Yuta was crazy for the outdoors, which explains the Japanese florist’s fervent love for nature and sports, such as soccer. 

Despite that, look at them now, working in what was supposed to be their second choice, in a country that was miles away from their home.

Sicheng was unsure as to why they landed there out of all the places, nor to whether they will stay that way in the future or not.

However, he was sure of one thing. 

Meeting Nakamoto Yuta and falling in love with him was Dong Sicheng’s destiny, and he was definitely willing to accept that destiny with all of his heart.

Suddenly, a spark set off in Sicheng’s brain, causing the gears to turn and bring his thinking back to life.

With much caution so that he would not wake his boyfriend up, he reached his hand out to the penholder on the table and brought it nearer to him, then stared up at the cherry blossom tree, trying to memorize even the smallest details of it.

He then picked up a pen and turned to his beautiful sleeping canvas, laying a soft kiss on his lips, then getting to work.

 

* * *

 

 

Two hours later, Yuta pried his eyes open, trying his best to adjust his vision to the blinding light of his table lamp. He groggily stared at it, his half-asleep brain trying to process something he could not point out.

_Ah._

_It’s open._

_Yes._

_Wait._

_Wait, no._

_This was not open before, was it?_

His eyes flitted from the lamp to the cherry blossom tree that was still on the table, then to the empty seat in from of him, then to every corner of the back room.  
He immediately stood up and walked out of the said room. The first thing that he noticed was his apron—it was neatly folded and placed on the counter he messily threw it onto, sitting next to a sign made out of paper that had The florist is out written in pretty cursive letters.

He did not remember making the sign, much less writing that beautifully. His handwriting was way far from decent.

Yuta picked the paper up and unfolded it, discovering a note written in a smaller size and a simpler font.

 

 _didn’t have the heart to wake you up. you’re pretty by default but you look way prettier when you’re well-rested._

**_xoxo_ ** _winko_

 **_p.s_ ** _if you want it as an actual tattoo, come by. my treat. (unless you’re willing to pay in kisses)_

 

Confusion etched in Yuta’s face, but then, it changed to utter shock once he saw his arm.

What used to be just plain skin was now a canvas with the most stunning art that he had laid his eyes on so far (besides the artist who drew it, of course). Branches of extended across it, decorated by cherry blossoms in full bloom. Every petal and leaf was correctly shaded, as if an actual branch was magicked into his arm without a pain.

Yuta smiled oh so fondly. He’ll make sure he’ll pay with more than kisses.

**Author's Note:**

> hello! sky here. 
> 
> thank you for taking the time to read this! 
> 
> check out my other stories on [archive of our own](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astaeria) and [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/emptypens).
> 
> follow me on my [twitter account](https://twitter.com/snowdinsunsets) and my [other social medias](https://skysite.carrd.co/).
> 
> have a decent day!
> 
> p.s did you get the word play? ;)


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